


A Quiet Morning at Home

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_flashfiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Bob woke up warm, with a pounding headache.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Morning at Home

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Marriage challenge and first posted October 22, 2003.

Bob woke up warm, with a pounding headache.

Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary, so he lay still, feigning sleep, until he remembered.

He'd arrived back at the outpost the day before, and Caroline had greeted him with the news that he and the circuit preacher had finally managed to turn up at the same time, and the wedding was therefore scheduled for the following morning.

Buck had insisted on a stag night, which, things being how they were, had consisted of the two of them going back to his cabin and getting stone drunk and telling dirty jokes--not much different from any other night, apart from being indoors. Well, and the drinking. Couldn't do much of that on duty. Buck had stayed over afterward, to make sure Bob woke up in time for his wedding.

That was why he was warm--he and Buck had bedded down together, out of habit rather than necessity, and their usual morning proximity was thermally redundant. Bob squirmed around to face Buck, peering at him in the thin morning light. He was still sound asleep, snoring prodigiously and, watching him, Bob snorted with amusement. Who was here to wake who, exactly? But then, it had been the unusual warmth, or possibly the snoring, that woke him. Bob figured they could call that one a draw, and lay still, enjoying the luxury of a shared bed indoors for a little longer.

Odd to think that tomorrow morning he'd be waking up with Caroline--though in truth the more arresting thought was that he'd be going to bed with her first, for reasons that had nothing to do with habit or necessity.

Bob eased out of the blankets, then, before he could think much further along those lines. There was a long day ahead, and he had plenty to do before he could go to bed again, under any circumstances. He made sure the covers were still tucked around Buck, and then pulled on his boots and headed out to see to the dogs. He was halfway through feeding his team when Buck appeared. They exchanged nods of good morning and then worked side by side to finish the chores.

When they headed back inside, Bob headed for the stove to start the coffee--it was the only thing Buck permitted him to cook--while Buck leaned into the icebox to find the makings of breakfast. After a moment, Buck's hand appeared above the top of the door, waving the empty butter dish accusingly, and Bob took it from his hand with a smile, and washed it off while he waited on the coffee. No point trying to assign blame this time; the placement of the empty butter dish was as much a mystery as everything else that had happened after the fourth bottle was opened last night.

Breakfast was the usual sort of culinary adventure, and they ate as usual, heads down, mouths full, silent and efficient. Bob wondered what it would be like, eating breakfast with Caroline, wondered what she would cook and whether she'd let him do the coffee.

He washed up and shaved, and Buck held the mirror for him and touched up the tricky spot behind his ear. Buck's beard was much more practical, but Caroline liked him clean-shaven, and Bob lived to serve.

Time to get dressed, then, in red serge and shiny boots. He donned the uniform carefully, barely familiar with all its components--how many times had he worn it in the last ten years? He watched Buck, as awkward as he was himself, and wondered what it would be like to watch Caroline getting dressed.

As Bob was lacing his boots it occurred to him that, barring Buck's untimely death and even allowing for a ten-year head start, he would wake up with Buck, eat breakfast and dress with him, many more times in his life than he would with Caroline. If he lived long enough to retire, it might even out--and if he didn't live long enough, he supposed he'd never know the difference. He felt a moment's anticipatory grief at the thought that he would leave Caroline a widow, but pushed it away.

Buck was standing there, watching him, when Bob straightened up. Bob smiled at his partner--his best man, today, every day--and shook his head in wonder and disbelief at the thought of his own wedding. "Strange, isn't it?"

Buck smiled, and when he reached out Bob lifted his chin to have his collar straightened. In an hour he'd stand facing Caroline this way, and swear himself to her in godly phrases, but here and now, with Buck, he didn't have to say a word.


End file.
